


Old Beginnings, New Endings

by romanticalgirl



Series: Monthly Challenge Fics [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begin as you mean to go on</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Beginnings, New Endings

Maria turns as though she’s on a floor for dancing, spinning in a circle with her arms out and her head tilted back. She looks ridiculous to Hornblower’s eye, but she also looks as if she’s enjoying herself, which is a rare enough look for his wife, that he doesn’t chastise her behavior. Still, he glances around to make sure there is no one in their immediate vicinity that could see her or, more importantly, see that she is with Hornblower.

The streets are fairly deserted save for men stumbling out of bars and brothels, drunkenly toasting them as they stumble past or fall face down amongst the cobblestones. A few whores call out to them as well, offering a ‘two for the price of one’ deal that causes Maria to blush. He is loathe to learn how she might possibly know what the women are offering, though her lower-class upbringing might have subjected her to the dredge of society. He seems to recall that her sewing basket often held dresses far beyond her means, yet not nearly the quality of women of higher status. 

His wife is often full of surprises, though the surprises fail to spark his interest, much like the rest of her. They are returning from an evening at Admiral Pellew’s residence, though the man himself had been called away in the middle of the affair, so it had ended early. The carriage that Hornblower had hired was not to return until much later, so they’d begun walking home. Maria’s footwear had been ill-made for dancing or much else, purchased for a pretty penny and solely for their looks. He knows that her feet hurt her, but she soldiers on, refusing to complain and actually talking again, describing the party to Hornblower as if he had not suffered through it himself.

Excitement stains her cheeks as she twirls again, going on about the music. It had sounded like so much brassy noise to his ears, an annoying undertone to the conversations he’d been attempting to have with other of His Majesty’s Navy, trying to curry favor and position with Pellew’s contemporaries. One of the Captains had joked with Hornblower of his wife’s fleet foot, how perhaps she’d do well on the ship without the threat of motion sickness. He’d smiled and laughed with the rest, but inside he’d swallowed bile and annoyance directed at Maria, fairly or not. 

In the distance something sparks and lights up the sky and Maria jumps, clutching Hornblower’s arm. He doesn’t understand the sudden onset of people wasting valuable gunpowder to light up the sky, and doesn’t tell her his thoughts on it as she stares in awe. Sometimes he wants to shake her from her simple-mindedness. More explosions go off and they mean war in his head, and his heart beats wildly, wanting to shout orders to his men. Instead he pats Maria’s hand and continues to guide her toward their home. 

“Horry.” 

She pats his shoulder and he blinks, looking down at her in surprise. He must have fallen into thought. “Ha-hum.” He clears his throat and nods brusquely. “Yes, Maria?”

“It’s midnight, I believe.” 

It’s clearly midnight. The church bell is tolling its twelve peals and shouts are ringing through the streets, even the quieter ones such as theirs. All he wants is to be home and near the fire, treasuring those last moments of his own before he climbs into bed. “So it is.”

“Horry.” 

He loathes her name for him. “Yes, Maria?”

“It’s the new year. Everyone is celebrating.”

“Yes. So I hear and see.” They come to their door and he pulls the key from his pocket. There’s a strange wistful look on her face in the faint glow from the streetlights. “We should get inside. It’s late and cold. And you look uncomfortable in those ridiculous shoes.” 

“Yes. Of course.” She nods and whatever was in her gaze is gone. She hurries in front of him up the stairs and into the bedroom, changing out of her finery. 

He goes to the fire and stokes it, getting a fine blaze burning before she slips into the kitchen and prepares it for the morning. He places his hands in the small of his back, fingers looped around his opposite wrist. She moves to the bedroom again. 

“Goodnight, Horatio.” He nods in response, though he doesn’t turn around. Her voice is small, soft like her. “I hope this new year is better for you. I’m sorry the last was such a disappointment.”

He turns, surprised. “I’ve said no such thing.”

“No. You haven’t.” She nods and smiles, and it’s fragile and perhaps already broken. “Goodnight.”


End file.
